The Horrors of Strike Cruiser 667
by DeathAngelWolf
Summary: Beginning story rewrite after long hiatus.


_**Hello reading audience, this is Author DeathAngelWolf with a little creepy story for you. I've recently been listening and watching stories about a lot of scary myths and other things and decided I'd like to try to write my own story. I hope you enjoy and don't hate it too much because it's my first attempt at a story. I will be updating this whenever possible, and feedback is much appreciated. So please, read my first attempt and leave me a review or PM if you wish telling me your thoughts. also, if you'd like to see more then like or follow the story.**_

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_Silence. That is what scares me the most. You might laugh at me, think I'm foolish. You might say "But you're a Space Marine, you guys fear nothing."._

_I once thought the same way, thinking myself fearless for I'd thought I'd seen it all in my many centuries of warfare. But after what happened in that one deployment to the Tarsis Ultra sector I realized that no one is immune to fear. None. Not even us the mighty protectors of mankind, are immune. _

_Silence heralds aboard this hellish vessel...Strike Cruiser 667. It's deafening, not a soul remains to make noise. The machines aboard are still, not a sound emanating from their usually vivid forms as they await commands that shall never come. Only I'm here now, the last survivor. The last one to tell the tale before it is lost to the silence forever as we hover above the barren rock of Tarsis Ultra._

Suddenly, the silence is broken by the very faint sound of scratching off in the distance. Just loud enough to be audible and to alert the marine who instantly reacted fearfully by disabling all the equipment he'd activated and rushing off into one of the corridors. His helmet cam still recording and the faint light of his lenses guiding him through the darkened corridors that no longer received power from the Ship's generators. He had no weapon except his combat knife, but he knew it would do little to protect him against what was coming. The scratching noises now sounded like they'd reached the computer room he'd logged into. There was nothing but these noises, not the pounding of feet nor the sound of breathing. Just the silence being broken by the very faint scratching against the plasteel walls of the rooms. But the marine kept running, his greaves striking the grated flooring heavily as he continued his run by cutting down many different corridors to his left and right several times. The scratching noises followed him, never getting louder but always getting closer despite the speed at which he ran. Yet whatever made these noises never changed pace, as though it was moving rather leisurely through the halls and still keeping up with ease. As quickly as the noises came however, and as close as they got while the marine was hiding in one of the empty crew quarters they just stopped abruptly.

The silence was back again, leaving the marine a respite once more. Or perhaps, whatever this thing was; was allowing the marine time to think and to wear on his sanity? Immediately the marine quickly drew his knife and edged to the open bulkhead door. Looking out very carefully, the helmet scanning the corridors yet finding nothing to report in the darkness. The marine breathed a short sigh of relief, drawing for now back inside the room and taking a seat on the floor. Removing the helmet revealed a weathered and gaunt expression, bags under his eyes from not sleeping for weeks. His brow furrowed in thought and worry before he held the helmet up to his face, the recording lenses focusing on his grey eyes.

_The silence, as I said. I fear it most over all things. This silence, it's heralded death to all aboard our ship except myself. All my battle brothers, the machine priests and crew who work the vessel. Only I've escaped its silent death so far. Because I know to run from that which I fear. The only noise it makes is the scratching sounds. It leaves no trace except very light marks on the walls, and the bodies of those who are its victims. I know not what it looks like, only the dead know that secret. I know not why our mighty weapons cannot slay this creature, or how it so easily cuts us down. All I know is I must keep running, recording everything so that one of you _*Gestures to the lenses as though speaking directly to the ones who may read and find this log* _can bring this back to Macragge from my body and let them know the fate of their brothers on Strike Cruiser 667._

The scratching noises resumed once again, this time just a few corridors away which made the marine quickly replace his helmet and rush out the door on a mad dash away from the ever drawing closer noises.


End file.
